The world was vast.
Too vast for one boy to matter.
Wang Chung walked through the wilderness, his robes torn, his spirit weak, his heart heavier than the mountains.
Days turned to weeks.
He hunted beasts, drank from rivers, and slept beneath open skies.
Every night, when he sat to meditate, the black bead within his soul rotated once.
Each time it did, a faint warmth spread through his meridians, refining the impurities in his body.
It was so slow that anyone else would've gone mad.
But Wang Chung endured.
Pain, hunger, loneliness—these became his companions.
---
Once, he passed through a mortal village. The people there spoke of cultivators as gods.
When they saw his tattered robe and broken sword, they pitied him, mistaking him for a fallen disciple.
An old woman gave him food.
A little girl smiled and offered him a flower.
For a brief moment, he felt warmth again.
But warmth was fragile.
A week later, bandits attacked the village. They wanted food, women, and silver.
Wang Chung fought back. He had little Qi, but his determination was sharper than steel.
He killed three men that day — the first lives he ever took.
When it was over, the old woman lay dead. The little girl's flower was crushed beneath a bloody footprint.
That night, under the rain, Wang Chung sat alone.
He didn't cry.
He simply stared at his bloodstained hands.
> "This is the world I wanted to enter…"
"The world of strength."
The bead in his soul pulsed faintly, as if responding to his despair.
A strange energy spread through him — cold, ancient, alive.
For the first time, his Qi flowed on its own, moving in a perfect cycle.
He felt his bottleneck tremble… and break.
Without elixirs, without pills, without help, Wang Chung stepped into the Third Layer of Qi Condensation.
It was slow, painful progress — but every wisp of Qi he formed was solid, flawless, like carved jade.
He clenched his fists, his expression calm.
> "From now on," he whispered, "I won't rely on anyone. Not sects, not fate, not heaven."
"If the heavens won't grant me talent… I'll seize it myself."
The rain fell harder.
Lightning flashed across the horizon.
And somewhere deep within his soul, the black bead turned again — this time, faster than before.
For a brief instant, Wang Chung saw something.
A vast void filled with countless stars.
An illusion… or a glimpse of the bead's true nature.
When he opened his eyes, the vision was gone.
But in his heart, a seed had been planted.
A seed that would one day overturn the heavens.
---
The next morning, he left the village behind.
From then on, his name vanished from mortal tongues.
No one knew of the boy who buried his emotions beneath silence.
No one knew that the weakest disciple of a destroyed sect would one day shake the world itself.
He walked north, toward unknown lands.
The wind carried the ashes of the past behind him.
Ahead lay the endless path of cultivation — cruel, bloody, and eternal.
The path… of the Celestial Immortal Emperor.